


Frankie & Mac

by Ellie226



Series: The Community [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Discipline, F/M, Hairbrush, Spanking, Time Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:45:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie226/pseuds/Ellie226
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frankie and Mac have just moved to a new community, made up entirely of people like them. Even though they both wanted to move, Frankie is having a hard time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frankie & Mac

“I HATE YOU,” I shrieked furiously, kicking the wall.

Mac nodded at that, saying, “I think what you mean is that you aren’t very happy that you’re in trouble right now. Time out starts when you decide to be quiet and stop having a temper tantrum.”

Neither his tone nor what he told me did anything to calm me down, and I proceeded to kick and scream for several long minutes before finally stopping to catch my breath.

Curling up in a miserable little ball, I cried. And cried. And cried a little bit more. He was the meanest papa on EARTH, and I wanted to go home. I didn’t like Georgia, and I didn’t like him.

My pity party was interrupted by Mac squatting beside me, setting down a sippy cup with water in it, “Drink that so you don’t get dehydrated,” he said firmly.

“Don’t want it,” I pouted, reaching out a hand to knock the cup away.

Before I could actually swat at it, Mac caught my hand and used it to pull me up onto my knees. “Stop,” he ordered, landing a swat. “I’ve had enough.”

Glaring at him through slightly swollen eyes, I screamed full in his face, too furious to come up with words to express how very angry I was with him.

“Francesca, that is enough,” he thundered, face very scary. In spite of all of the frustration I had stored up, the expression on his face was enough to stop the tantrum. When it became apparent that I was done, at least temporarily, he said, very sternly, “You will sit in time out, and you will be quiet. I will let you know when you can come out, and then we can discuss this calmly.”

I scowled at that, but the way he was looking at me was not very promising, and I was a little bit afraid that our calm discussion was not going to involve pants for me. Turning to face the corner, I hugged my knees and waited, even as I glared at the paint.

I hated this corner. I hated our new house and our new community. As soon as he released me from my prison, I was going to pack my stuff and return to our home in Chicago. And if he didn’t want to go with me, then I was just going to leave him here. I said as much when he tapped my shoulder, telling me it was time to come out and talk.

“Sweetheart, there’s no home to return to,” he kindly pointed out. “We sold it. Remember? This is our home now.”

“I hate Georgia,” I told him.

He nodded at that, “I know. You hate Georgia, and you hate me, and you hate that we moved. Am I missing anything?”

Chin trembling, I shook my head. Then I remembered, “I don’t like this house either.”

“What don’t you like about it?’ he asked, shifting from his knees to sit on the floor beside me. 

“Stupid corner,” I groused, pointing at the time out corner. There was one like it in every house, although you had your option of where the decorator put it. And obviously, the name they painted varied, depending on the occupant.

“You didn’t like the time out corner in Chicago either.”

“Least that was plain,” I objected. “I don’t like looking at the words.”

The words. Being able to choose the font and the placement for the sign, “Francesca’s Naughty Spot,” had not placated my irritation about having it so clearly labelled.

“Then don’t get a time out,” Daddy said firmly. “You know how to avoid it.”

Making a face, I told him, “It’s not fair.”

Like always, he refused to take the bait, completely ignoring the complaint in favor of asking, “Why were you in time out, Francesca Elizabeth?”

Sniffling, I pouted, “Because you put me here.”

“And why did I put you there?”

Pressing my lips together, I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about it. Nodding resolutely, Mac pulled out his cell phone.

“I’m calling the center, and you’re going to daycare,” he told me, very calm.

I shook my head frantically, “But that costs money!”

“I know it does. We’re just going to have to take it out of our vacation fund.”

“No! You said we got to go to Disney World! We talked about it! You said that we were going to be close anyway!” I tried to pull the phone away from him, but he very calmly caught my hands and held them.

“If I can’t trust you to be home by yourself, then I need someone to watch you during the day,” he explained firmly. “And since you can’t even tell me why you’re in trouble, then you obviously are not big enough to be alone.”

“I didn’t listen!” I told him, not caring about the consequences so long as it didn’t mean daycare.

Setting his phone to the side, he nodded, “You didn’t listen. What did I tell you this morning?”

I glared at the ground, “No computer until everything was done.”

“Uh huh, and what was our agreement?” he asked.

I sighed heavily. We had talked about this when we moved. His work had transferred him, so he knew I’d have to find another job, and we’d decided that I could take some time off and try to sell some of my writing. I had also possibly, in a moment of weakness, agreed that I would handle the cooking and the cleaning since I’d be home full time.

“Frankie, answer my question please,” he told me. When that didn’t make me talk, he said, “I guess it’s daycare tomorrow then.”

“Noooooo!”

“Then answer my question. I’m done screwing around here, Francesca.”

“I’m supposed to cook and clean,” I muttered. 

He nodded at that, “Yes, you are. We agreed-” I tried to turn my head away, and he caught my chin, forcing me to make eye contact, “We agreed, Francesca. This wasn’t a decision I made all on my own. We agreed that we would handle it this way, and I don’t appreciate having to nag you about it.”

“Sorry,” I told him. And I was. Kind of. It was all his fault that we had to move anyway. If we hadn’t, I’d still be working in Chicago.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” his tone sharpened, and I forced myself not to flinch. “I think that a bedtime spanking and straight to bed, unrepentant little miss.”

“Nooooo! Papa!” I protested. “I’m not even a little bit tired, and we haven’t had dinner.”

“I ought to send you to bed without it,” he lectured, standing up and hauling me to my feet. “You were supposed to make dinner for both of us, and I come home and the breakfast dishes are still in the sink.”

“I got distracted,” I told him. 

“Tonight, after I spank your bottom for you and tuck you in, I’m going to put a lock on the computer so you can’t waste all of your time,” he warned, leading me up to the master bedroom. 

I was relieved. Although I recognized the value of placing a nursery in each house, I hated it. So far, Papa had only used the nursery for naps, and I really wanted to keep it that way.

I was hurried through my nighttime routine. I was grateful enough to find myself in the master bathroom that I wasn’t going to object to having to brush my teeth at barely 7:00. After washing my face and using the potty, I stood still so that he could brush and braid my hair.

I winced when the brush was placed on the bed, rather than back on my vanity. I’d been expecting it, but that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it. I hated that he used my hairbrush, but Papa insisted that it helped remind me every time I had to brush my hair.

Admiring the braids in the mirror, I smiled at him, “Thank you, Papa,” I said. He really had gotten better at it, and I appreciated not waking up with my hair in snarls.

Kissing me quickly, he tapped my nose, “I’m still spanking you. Get your jammies, for me, missy.”

“I wasn’t saying thank you so you wouldn’t,” I defended. Once he said he was going to spank me, he always did. Which is not to say that I wasn’t hoping to soften him up a little bit.

“Alright, Frankie,” he replied. “Pajamas please.”

I dragged myself over to my dresser, opening up the drawer with all of my pajamas. After a moment, Papa cleared his throat, “Francesca,” he warned.

Eyes filling with tears, I grabbed a plain, white, nightgown. I know he liked it, and there wouldn’t be anything tight over my bottom. Carrying it over, I silently lifted my arms, allowing him to dress me.

Papa looked at my face for a moment, before helping me lay across his lap. I didn’t understand the point of putting the nightgown on, since he pulled it all the way up to practically my shoulders.

Hand resting across my poor, sensitive, little backside, Papa said, “What’s the spanking for tonight?”

“Not doing my chores like you told me,” I mumbled, regretting it.

“No,” he corrected, swatting sharply. “I understand getting distracted. If you had let me know, I would have helped you come up with a way of handling it. What I’m upset about, and what I am never going to put up with from you, little miss, is the attitude.” He began spanking harder, saying, “I understand that you wish we hadn’t moved. I’m sorry about that; I really, truly, wish that I hadn’t been transferred. I had no idea how unhappy it was going to make you. But, that is not an excuse for the way you’ve been acting lately. The temper tantrums and the refusal to do me the basic courtesy of answering questions? That’s going to stop. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, biting back the urge to yell out. His hands were calloused, and it didn’t feel good. “Yes sir, Papa,” I told him.

“That’s my respectful little girl,” he praised. “I expect a lot more yes sir around here, or we’re going to see if Mr. David is right about what good switches I can pull off that peach tree.”

“Nooooo,” I moaned. 

Mr. David was a meany, and he switched his little boy right in the backyard, where everyone could hear. Lucy, from next door, said that Ben had even gotten a bare bottom spanking at the block party, in front of everyone, for telling his Daddy that he wasn’t going to eat something. Admittedly, Papa was not a fan of me telling him what I wasn’t going to do, but I didn’t think he’d pull down my panties in front of everyone.

“Excuse me? Do you tell me how to discipline you?”

“No sir,” I pleaded. “But no switches pleeeeease.”

“No switches please? I like the way that sounds a lot better than plain nooooo,” he told me. “Does that mean you want me to use your hairbrush?”

I hated that question. It wasn’t fair. Obviously, I didn’t want him to use my hairbrush, but did he mean as opposed to a switch? I’d rather he just stop spanking me entirely, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“I could always go and cut a switch right now,” he warned.

That spurred me into action, “No please! Use the brush! Please, Papa!”

“Use the brush, please, Papa?” he repeated, stopping paddling me for a moment. I squealed when he resumed, landing the broad, wooden, back of the hairbrush right where I sat. 

When he didn’t move the brush, preferring to land it repeatedly in the same small area, I wailed.

“Owwww! Ow Ow! Papa! Hurts!” I cried, kicking my legs.

I couldn’t see him, but I was sure Mac was nodding. In our old bedroom, there had been a large mirror that I could see myself in when Papa was disciplining me, and I’d found out that he typically nodded when I said something exceptionally stupid. And telling him this hurt was stupid. Of course it hurt. As Papa was fond of telling me, he’d had lots of experience to perfect his form. I didn’t find that particularly funny.

“Francesca,” he said, and I realized that he must have asked me something. I hated the question and answer portion. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes sir?”

“Now?” he asked. I didn’t need a mirror to see the smile. I could hear it in his voice. “I asked what you’re going to be doing differently?”

“Ummmmmm,” I stalled, trying to think. My tendency toward sarcasm was not appreciated in this setting, and I wanted to make sure I struck the right tone. “I’m going to be politer,” I assured him.

“That’s good,” he responded, landing half a dozen hard smacks of the brush. “I would really like to see my respectful little girl again. Am I going to come home to an angel tomorrow, or a little devil?”

“An angel,” I swore. “Forever and ever!”

“Forever and ever? I’ve spanked all the bad attitude right out of you?”

“Yes sir,” I promised, letting out a sob of relief when I saw the brush set down in front of my face.

Papa kept me over his lap until my sobs had slowed, helping me to stand up when I was ready. Before he would cuddle me, he put both of his hands on my shoulders, holding me away.

“What do you say?” he prompted.

“I’m sorry I was-” I stopped, having to start over, “I’m sorry about my bad attitude. Thank you for spanking me.” I hated the second part, but I knew what he wanted to hear.

“Thank you for apologizing,” he told me, pulling me into a hug. I let myself relax against him, hot tears still seeping from underneath my eyelids. 

After several minutes, he made me stand up straight. Getting up from the bed, he pulled down the sheets on my side and gestured for me to get in.

“Oh, Papa,” I complained, even as I obeyed. “I promised I’d have a better attitude. I wanna stay up with you.”

He shook his head, tucking the sheets around my body much more firmly than strictly necessary, “And I promised you an early bedtime. We’ll try you staying up with me tomorrow.”

I pouted a little, but I didn’t argue with him. I couldn’t stop myself from a little bit of begging though.

“Papa? I know I was sassin’ you, but I’m real hungry,” I said quietly.

“Sassin’ me?” he smiled at that, sitting down on the bed and tugging the end of a braid. 

“‘s’what Lucy’s mama calls it,” I explained. When he didn’t say anything else, I forced myself to continue. “Could I please please please have something to eat?”

He sighed heavily, giving me a look as he stood, “I’m going to go downstairs and make myself some dinner. If you promise that I will hear absolutely no complaints about what I bring you, then I will bring something up for you to eat.”

“Yes sir,” I said. It was a concerning request, but it had been a long time since lunch, and all I’d eaten then was some yogurt.

After kissing my forehead, Papa went down the stairs. Thrusting my hand under my pillow, I pulled my bink out, sticking my thumb in my mouth and rubbing the satin against my lips as I waited for him to return.

I didn’t need to worry. Papa came back 15 minutes later, bearing a tray with dinner for both of us.

“It’s cheddar,” he told me, putting it down. “And yes, you do have to drink your orange juice. You don’t get enough calcium.”

I took a bite of the omelet, even as I made a face. Before I could say anything, Papa lifted a piece of toast to my lips, “And I’m pretty sure there were some promises made about not complaining since I’m feeding you.”

I took a bite, smiling. He’d dipped into the good jam. I could forgive the pulp free orange juice. For now.

“I know the move’s been hard,” he told me, taking a bite of his own dinner. 

I nodded, chewing. We’d had this discussion before I hadn’t been opposed to the move before it happened. I’d actually been pretty excited about it. The issue was that once we got here, and I actually saw what everything was like...it was harder than I’d thought. 

“So, no daycare tomorrow,” he continued, forcing me to focus on what he was saying, “but Lucy’s mama told me about a playgroup that’s meeting on Saturday, and we’re going to go to that.”

“N-” I stopped myself just in time. Telling him no after everything else was not going to go over well. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to think before I said, “I would prefer not to, please, Papa.”

“I appreciate you using your manners, but we’re going. It’s only a couple of hours on Saturday.”

I pouted at that, telling him, “I don’t like that. Saturdays are when we have time together. Not time with other people.”

“Two hours, and it’ll give you a chance to meet some other people. Which you need to do, Francesca. Staying in the house all the time isn’t making things any easier for you,” he explained, tugging on the end of a braid.

I sighed heavily, knowing the ‘that’s final’ tone when I heard it. Deciding to try to make the best of it, I asked, “After, can we do something just us?”

“And what were you thinking, bird?” he asked, smiling.

I shrugged innocently, saying, “We haven’t seen the city yet? Please, Papa?”

Although Mac had never complained when we lived in Chicago, there had been a couple of comments about noise, and I knew that he was definitely happier out in the suburbs. I didn’t mind the crowds.

“What did you want to do?” he grinned at me, and I knew that he would agree.

“I dunno. There’s an aquarium maybe?”

“Do you care?”

I shook my head, “No. I just wanna go someplace else. Maybe we could get dinner or something?”

“Eat your dinner now, please, miss,” he instructed, tapping my plate. When I took a sip of my juice, he continued, “I suppose we could go to Atlanta. Maybe Lucy’s mama will have some suggestions?”

“Okay,” I told him, eating. Lucy’s mama was pretty nice, and Lucy was fun. They were really the only people I’d met more than to say hi.

“And you have to show me good behavior until then,” he added. “No attitude, Frankie Beth, or we’ll be spending our Saturday here, and it will not be fun for either of us.”

“Yes sir,” I nodded. After the spanking tonight, I would be behaving myself for at least a little while. Papa’s hands were hard enough, and the brush was awful. I thought that he’d been picking up tips from other big people because it seemed like he’d learned some new tricks.

“And no pouting or being a crab at playgroup.”

I looked up at that, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t setting me up to fail, “But you know that sometimes I don’t do so good with new people.”

“I know, but I expect you to use your polite words and listen to grown ups,” he soothed, smiling kindly. 

I shouldn’t have assumed he would pick something I couldn’t do, but it was hard to trust him sometimes. Especially because I knew that he talked to Mr. David, and it seemed like he was always looking for a reason to spank Ben.

“Alright, finish up. I believe I promised you early bed,” he told me, standing up. He’d eaten his dinner, and I took the last couple of bites, unhappily draining the last couple of swallows of juice. “Teeth,” he told me, taking the tray and making his way downstairs.

Heading into the bathroom, I made quick work of cleaning my teeth again. I knew he’d expect me to be back in bed by the time he returned from cleaning the dishes, and I wanted to show him that I was trying to behave.

I kept that thought in mind as he tucked me back in, with a kiss to the cheek, and then started downstairs. I hated being left alone in bed; he only did it when I was in disgrace, and it was embarrassing. Nonetheless, I shut my eyes. Curled on my side, thumb in my mouth, I resolved to go right to sleep. I wanted to go to the city on Saturday, and I was going to behave.


End file.
